Good People with Good Intentions
by OutcastsAndLullabies
Summary: When Reika Asuna, a member of the Ouran Art Club, is assigned to the Host Club for a project she has no idea what to expect. And neither does the Host Club. {Possible ?xOC.}
1. The Assignment!

**BEFORE READING: Make sure to read the dialogue in the character's voice & imagine how they would say it. Seriously, it makes a HUUUGE difference. c:  
Disclaimer: I don't own OHSHC nor its characters.**

* * *

**1: The Assignment**

"I wonder what the next theme will be," said Hinata.

"I don't know," Yuki said thoughtfully, toying with the end of her golden braid. "Maybe scenery or something?"

"I hope it'll be _boys._" Hinata clasped her hands together in excitement, green eyes twinkling.

"What kind of theme is that?" demanded Misaki.

"Oh, shut up," Hinata pouted. "What do you think, Reika?"

Slowly, Reika's eyes detached themselves from her sketch of an elephant stomping along happily, decorated as if it were attending a festival in India. The pencil marks were short, light, and feathery, as she had not had time for touch-ups. "Inner demons?" she suggested. "We haven't done any dark themes yet."

"Ooh," Yuki breathed. "That's a good one."

There was a general hush as the President of the Ouran Art Club entered the room. She was a very tall and slender woman from America, with milky skin and delicate features. She moved gracefully, her red dress flowing around her beautifully. There was always something otherworldly about her, but most put it down to her being foreign. Reika didn't. Some things were just so beautiful that they seemed out-of-place. Jasmine - she insisted they address her by her first name, although it felt odd and disrespectful considering she was also the art teacher - was one of those things.

Must be an American thing.

Jasmine leaned against the oak desk located in the front of the room, which had several paintings, sculptures, and blank canvases lined up in rows behind it. Cabinets holding a variety of art supplies surrounded the room. Desks were placed in rows, and were pushed to the side to make room for projects and stools while doing assignments.

As the last few people took their seats, Jasmine began to speak.

"So," she said, folding her hands into her lap. "Who wants to guess what the next assignment will be?" A couple kids raised their hands, including Yuki and Hinata, and Jasmine waved her arm in a dismissive manner. "Put your hands down; you'll never guess." The club members looked around uncertainly before doing as told.

Jasmine pushed herself upright and grabbed a small bowl off the desktop. "You're each going to draw a slip of paper," she explained, stalking around the room and extending her arm to each student. "Don't look at it yet; just draw."

A scrawny boy at the front of the room inhaled sharply before tensing and shutting the piece of paper, slamming it down as if he'd found his father's dirty magazine hidden much too obviously in the bathroom. Reika couldn't help but snicker slightly along with Misaki.

"Each slip has a club name written on it," continued Jasmine. "You are to report to that specific club for a given amount of time and paint, carve, whatever you choose. I'm offering you quite a bit of freedom as to what the theme is, as long as members of the club are included in at least one work of art. And _no _trading clubs whatsoever."

A kid raised his hand.

"Yes?" acknowledged Jasmine.

"How _long_ exactly do we go there?" he asked.

"I haven't decided yet," she muttered. "Each club has a different amount of members, so it may take others longer. We will extend the project if needed. Report to the Art Room each day before heading to the assigned club in order to show me your progress. Any other questions?" She paused. "You may now open your slips."

Reika lifted the scrap in her hands, unfolding it curiously. There, written in bold and dramatically swirling letters were the words:

**THE HOST CLUB**

* * *

**A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Please review & wait for updates. :3 Hope you enjoyeddd~**


	2. Welcome to the Host Club!

**REMINDER: I don't own OHSHC. :)**

* * *

**2: Welcome to the Host Club!**

**MUSIC ROOM #3**

Reika stared up at the swinging plague, wondering not for the first time what would await her. The girls had made a huge fuss about the club, squealing on and on about how dreamy all the members were. And then there was Jasmine. "I'd be careful with that one if I were you," she had said as the Art Club spilled into the hallway. "Kyoya was more than reluctant to take part, especially without a contract." It seemed the only reason he had agreed to participate was because of Tamaki, a boy who insisted that the club would make a good impression on the artist - because apparently it was wonderful enough that they didn't have to worry about anyone not liking it - and would therefore gain positive promotion. _Free_ positive promotion.

Reika had already decided that she would paint whatever it is she wanted, positive or negative. Art was about expression, not recognition (although she was learning that not a lot of people thought so).

"Well," breathed Reika, placing a lithe hand on one of the doorknobs, "I've got nothing to lose."

Actually, she had a lot to lose, but that wasn't the point.

Slowly, Reika opened the door.

Cue magical sparkle sound effects. Rose petals fluttered out of the room, and for a moment Reika was somewhat oddly reminded of _Rose Zephyr_, an oil on wood painting by American artist Kris Lewis. The draft itself carried a floral scent, fitting for the scene. Once all the special effects died down, Reika could see that inside were seven - well, six; she classified the blonde as cute - handsome boys.

"Welcome!"

**#o#o#o#**

"A new customer!" Tamaki almost gasped.

In the doorway stood a girl, dressed in a classic Ouran Academy dress, pencils and sketchbook in one hand. Red and fringed bangs fell artfully into her face, where violet eyes were surrounded by dark lashes.

"We just love first-timers," continued Tamaki. "So tell me - what kind of guys are you interested in? Is it the Mischievous Type? The Natural? Boy-Lolita? The Strong and Silent Type? Perhaps the Cool Type? Or," he hooked his arm around Reika's waist, pulling her against him and gently brushing her hair back, "I bet you're into a guy like me."

Their faces were inches apart, so that they were breathing the same cramped air. Too close for strangers.

Reika blinked. "I don't have a 'type.'"

Tamaki paled, wearing a blank expression of shock. He was quick to recover, however, releasing Reika and putting one hand on his hip. He brought the other to his forehead, as if he were thinking deeply or contemplating the meaning of life.

"Surely there must be _something_ you prefer," he insisted.

Reika lifted one shoulder in a shrug. She said, "If I like someone, I like someone. If I don't, then I don't."

This was not the answer Tamaki had anticipated. He began rambling on and on, pacing slightly for a few moments before slamming a fist into an open palm. "That's it! A quiz! We'll have her take a quiz!"

"I don't think a quiz will work, Senpai," muttered Haruhi.

Something tugged on Reika's sleeve, and she looked down to see Honey looking up at her expectantly with round eyes. He asked, "Hey, what's that notebook for?"

She smiled, opening her mouth to speak, but Kyoya beat her to it. "She's the artist we've been expecting," he said, adjusting his glasses as he read from his binder. And by 'we' he meant Tamaki and himself. "Her name's Reika Asuna. First year and member of the Ouran Art Club. Her father is the founder of the Asuna Art University, a college for those majoring in the Fine Arts, and her mother is one of the most respected art critics in Japan. She is also," said Kyoya, referring back to Reika, "friends with many who were previously customers and are now not."

"Why didn't you tell me she's the artist we've been expecting?!" Tamaki demanded, teeth razor sharp as he turned on the other male.

"It seemed you two were getting acquainted fine to me," mused Kyoya.

"THAT'S NOT FUNNY!" Small sparks of fire erupted from Tamaki's mouth, but Kyoya didn't even flinch. Reika pondered for a moment on how the hell this guy, with his cool expression and amused smile, still had his eyebrows. A mental image of him with flaming eyebrows rose in her mind, and she was forced to bite back a laugh. She bet he'd still try to act cool, even then.

"Rei-chan!" declared Honey, clinging to Mori's neck. If having Honey hollering in his ear bothered him any, he didn't show it.

"Thanks for saving me an introduction," Reika said uncertainly. Who _was_ that guy with the glasses, anyway?

"So what're you saying? She's out to get us or something?" asked Hikaru, without pause.

"Not likely," said Kyoya. "It seems she befriended them either after or much before they stopped visiting the Host Club, so I doubt she had any kind of involvement."

Reika commented, "You're talking about me like I'm not here."

"She's here to paint us," said Tamaki, ignoring her complaint and sitting gracefully into a conveniently placed chair.

"You're here to paint us, huh?" smirked Hikaru, coming up behind her and leaning on her shoulder (even though she was only about three inches shorter than them, unlike Haruhi).

Kaoru occupied her other side, mirroring his brother and mimicking that devilish tone. "Does that mean you're going to draw us in the nude?"

"That's exactly what it means," joked Reika, a smile tugging at the very edges of her lips.

"That's Hikaru and Kaoru," introduced Tamaki. "And that's Honey-senpai and Mori-senpai. Over there's Kyoya-senpai and Haruhi. And I'm Tamaki," he finished, smiling all the while. "Welcome to the Host Club!"

* * *

**A/N: I never noticed how nobody in OHSHC speaks twice in a row until I tried to write a fanfic. XD Everybody just blurts out randomly... Anyway, thanks for the reviews! I apologize if I upload too fast or slow. :p**


	3. Charades & Facades!

**NOTE: Haruhi is referred to as a male in this chapter because that's what gender Reika thinks she is. :)**

* * *

**3: Charades and Façades!**

Reika stood in the middle of the once neglected music room with Kyoya. He had introduced the members more in-depth than Tamaki had, mentioning things like selling points and key traits. Reika pretended to listen politely, nodding and saying "Uh huh" every once in a while, analyzing the facial features of each member as he talked.

Smiling, Kyoya turned to her, and Reika could see instantly that his smile wasn't genuine. Not. At. All. He said, "I hope you'll find that our club suits to your likings."

Translation: You had better like our club. For your own sake.

"Yeah," said Reika. "Me too."

Since it was her first day at the Host Club, Reika decided it'd be best to sit in with each of the hosts for a little bit and only sketch for now. She was still working on being a patient person, so planning her artwork was not exactly her forte, but she knew it would benefit her in the end. Or at least that's what she had heard.

First up: Haruhi Fujioka.

**#o#o#o#**

Reika shifted uncomfortably in one of the chairs provided by the Host Club, balancing her sketch pad on her knees. It wasn't the actual furniture that was the problem; it was her position. Usually, while drawing, she sprawled out at all sorts of ridiculous angles, but the pale maize dress she was wearing prevented her from doing so. She didn't really feel like flashing her panties to everyone in the room.

Appearance wise, it was easy to pick out a key trait for Haruhi: his eyes. Wide, warm, and welcoming. In second place came his charming smile, and after that his overall femininity. In a lot of ways, including just the way he carried himself, he was very much like a girl. Nothing wrong with that. Just like there's nothing wrong with a woman who's manlier than most men.

"That's a lovely necklace you have on," said Haruhi, referring to the customer with blonde hair and russet eyes. The girl blushed slightly, although her fair skin made it seem a darker shade of red, and her hand flew up to grab at the accessory. It was a simple pendant, with several diamonds lined up to form the shape of a bow.

"Thank you," she said softly, smiling shyly at her lap. She had a very light accent…_British_, Reika thought. She doubted anyone else could even register it. "My father bought it for me."

"Well that was nice of him. If I ever have kids, I think I might spoil them," said Haruhi. "With lots of fancy tuna." The two girls at the table giggled slightly.

Overall, Haruhi struck Reika as genuine. In fact, she choose to begin with him in the first place because she knew he was going to be the easiest to paint, considering he was one of the few members who didn't put on a façade. Putting pencil to paper, Reika began a light sketch of Haruhi in the midst of turning around, smiling over a slim shoulder, head tilted to the side a little for brownie points.

While switching customers, Haruhi leaned across the table slightly to peek at what Reika was doing. The graphite was dancing quickly across the page, leaving Haruhi behind.

"Wow," he said, smiling softly. His eyebrows raised just a millimeter in surprise. "You're really good."

Reika grinned up at him. At Ouran, there were a ton of talented artists, so it didn't really feel much like having a talent at all. It's like going to a dance academy. You should be proud that you got accepted there in the first place, but _everyone_ there can dance, so it's devoid of that 'I'm special' feeling. "Thanks."

**#o#o#o#**

"I wrote a poem about the two of us, Kyoya," Keiko said in what would have been a seductive voice if it weren't for the fact that she was trying so hard.

Last year, Keiko had practically hunted Reika's brother, Isamu, down to the edge of the earth to confess her feelings for him. And Reika was pretty sure she burned down some houses and swallowed some villagers along the way. Isamu tried to kindly explain to Keiko that he didn't return her feelings, but she was persistent. She gave up eventually, but Reika still didn't get how someone who was attracted to Isamu could be interested in Kyoya. They're bipolar opposites. Reika thought she was the only one who could be attracted to bipolar opposites.

"Is that so?" questioned Kyoya. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to give it a read sometime."

Keiko reached to the side and pulled a notebook seemingly out of thin air. Reika leaned in her chair a bit, twitching the tablecloth aside. Where the hell had that come from? Probably the same place where she keeps the rope she uses to tie boys down with.

Sliding the notebook across the table, Keiko purred, "Go ahead, kitten."

Reika quickly slapped a hand over her mouth in hopes of muffling her giggles. In what world was Kyoya a _kitten_? More like a fox, although she had to admit that the image of him with cat ears was pretty adorable. Maybe it did suit him. Black cats meant bad luck.

Keiko ignored her, all her attention focused on Kyoya as he glanced over. An ordinary gesture, but Reika felt the weight of a threat crushing down on her chest all the same. He may as well have glared at her, what with the way his eyes sparked coldly.

"Something humorous, Miss Reika?" he asked in that cool tone of his. Reika quickly turned her laughter into a coughing fit.

"Sorry," she said, struggling not to laugh. "Hairball."

The moment she stopped talking, her hand covered her mouth again, where she pressed her lips together firmly and tried to recreate a straight face as she snickered. Some things she just thought were hilarious, and she had no idea why. This situation was one of those things.

Much to Reika's surprise, Kyoya choose to ignore this, shifting his gaze to the notebook in front of him. Resting his chin on one hand, his eyes began to quickly scan the page. He was careful to maintain his usual expression, with that sly smirk of his, but as he passed over a certain line Reika cold have sworn she saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. It was gone as soon as it came. The grin fell from Reika's lips.

So the Shadow King was a masked character, huh?

Charade or no charade, one thing that would never change is that Kyoya is a born leader. Come to think of it, how was Kyoya _Vice_ President? Reika's best bet is that it was to prevent ultimate world domination. It's never a good idea to make someone with as much power and as many resources as Kyoya president of anything, even something as trivial as a high school club.

Reika's painting would focus on these leadership skills. Kyoya was the one in control. The brains behind the operation. The man behind the wheel.

The man behind the wheel.

Got it.

**#o#o#o#**

Reika stood behind the couch where Tamaki sat, surrounded by females. The one to his left, who had unbelievably long hair, turned to him and asked, "Tamaki, do you think I would look good with a shorter haircut?"

Tamaki's fingers rose to grasp her chin, and he leaned in close so that she could feel his breath on her lips. "You could have no hair and your eyes would still be as radiant as the shining sun, princess."

"Oh, Tamaki!" she gasped, the other girls around her squealing. Their insides turned to jelly, their lifeless arms flailing helplessly.

That was all Reika needed to see. She continued past the group, wondering whether or not she should just paint Tamaki's head as a block of cheese.

**#o#o#o#**

The only noises that could be heard were the repeating "haaa omph omp omp" as Honey stuffed his face and the sounds of star struck girls. Reika stared in disbelief as the boy finished off his eighth piece of cake, grinning triumphantly as the ninth was placed in front of him.

"Shouldn't he be full by now?" asked Reika, partially worried that he'd start vomiting all over the place.

"Mitsukuni doesn't get full," said Mori, with the tiniest emphasis on the word 'get', and Reika was surprised at how resonant his voice was. She didn't say anything, however; she only glanced at him as he continued to stare at Honey. It seemed he was admiring the blonde, but she wasn't sure. That made her feel out of place and uneasy, kind of like she was missing something that everyone else could plainly see. It always felt that way when Reika couldn't easily read people.

Ignoring the feeling, she shook her head and laughed softly before ducking her head down and continuing to draw Honey. Sparkly eyes, big smile, lots of cake. Cuteness overload. She could feel somebody watching her, and in response tilted the page so that Mori could better see. "Like it?"

"Yeah," he said.

When she was finished with Honey, she moved on to Mori, drawing him in a casually dramatic and slightly sideways pose. He sat on the velvet couch, one leg stretched out at an angle away from his body. The other was placed normally in front of him, and he leaned forward on it with his elbow. He was staring off to the side, and he was supposed to have that distant look in his eyes, but Reika didn't quite get it.

_Not good enough_, she thought, and ripped the sheet from the pad. She crumpled it into a ball and carelessly tossed it behind the couch before giving it another shot.

Apparently the wad had hit Tamaki, because he stood up, pointed at Reika, and accusingly shouted, "Watch where you're throwing things!"

She ignored him, all her attention locked on the drawing in front of her. _Wrong!_ Growling, she hastily tore it away, throwing the wad more violently behind her. Mori glanced at her sideways as she tried again. This time, when she went to yank the disgraceful sheet away, Mori's fingers caught around her wrist, halting her actions. She blinked up at him in surprise. His expression told her to stop, and that all her past drawings were fine.

"Right," she sighed. "Sorry."

**#o#o#o#**

"Hikaru!"

While telling one of his famous stories about how cute Kaoru was while doing something embarrassing, Hikaru's hand gestures had knocked over a cup, resulting in the now lobster red and tea covered Kaoru. Looking down at himself, he bit his bottom lip both painfully and adorably.

Now, here's what _would_ have happened:

Hikaru would have stood abruptly from his chair, almost knocking it over in the process. His hands would fly up to his brother's face as he said, "Kaoru! I'm so sorry, Kaoru. It's all my fault. I was just so distracted. Please, forgive me."

Kaoru would reach up to cup his twin's face with one hand, the other resting on his neck as the two loosely embraced. "Don't say that, Hikaru," Kaoru would say breathily. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have distracted you. I'm sorry."

But none of that had occurred, all because Reika did what she was infamous for, which was acting before thinking.

Before the thought of "Hey, this is part of their act" could cross her mind, Reika pushed her sketch pad to the floor to prevent damage, lunged for the first teacup she saw, and dumped the sugary liquid on her abdomen.

When people fall, Reika falls. When people drop their trays at lunch, Reika drops her tray. And when people's pants fall down in a public place, Reika reaches over to yank down somebody else's pants. Because that's what you're supposed to do whenever someone is humiliated. To make them feel better, you make a complete fool out of yourself or, in some cases, the unlucky person standing next to you.

The people around her stared in a mix of shock and disbelief. Kaoru was the one to speak first. Blinking once, he said, "You didn't have to do that, you know."

Reika's shoulders went slack, her face wiped of any expression save for a sort of exhaustion as realization dawned on her. "That was part of the act, wasn't it?" It wasn't so much a question as it was a statement. "Ah, whatever. It'll wash."

"A brave sacrifice!" Tamaki, in his elegant voice, declared.

"Here you are, Rei-chan!" Honey, perched on Mori's shoulders, leaned down to hand a towel to Reika. She stood on her tiptoes and reached up to take it, grateful.

Pressing the cotton material to her already clammy stomach, she grinned up at the two and said, "Thanks."

* * *

**A/N: Yes! Hopefully this will be the last of the boring chapters. :3 Thanks so much for reading this far & reviewing. Keep it up? c:**


End file.
